


Let's Ride the Vibrations

by milk_pie



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: But also, Frottage, Hand Jobs, I should not have done this, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Improvised Sex Toys, Inhuman Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Kink, Sex Toys, Snark, Vibrators, a little bit ooc geralt, but i took writing it way too seriously, but this is also kinda crack smut, i guess, idk man, im so sorry, impish geralt, impish jaskier, improper use of witcher medallions, inhuman!jaskier, it's not really my fault though, just a little bit though, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23227702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milk_pie/pseuds/milk_pie
Summary: “Jaskier,” Geralt growls, and the bard freezes in place. The Witcher leans in, crowding Jaskier back down against his bedroll, one hand braced on the ground next to the smaller man’s head, while the other keeps the medallion pressed against his cheek. “Jaskier,” he breathes the name out, barely audible in the small space between them. “Whatareyou?”“Uh,” Jaskier squeaks, blue eyes almost too wide. “Scared?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 33
Kudos: 922





	Let's Ride the Vibrations

**Author's Note:**

> _  
> “that could be used to a sexual advantage is what i’m saying”  
>  “what shoving the medallion up his ass”  
> “lol it’d probably feel good on his dick too”  
> _

So Jaskier isn’t exactly _human_. It’s not quite fair to call him a monster, in the same way it’s not fair to call Geralt a monster, but _human_ , well, it’s just not the proper truth. 

It’s something in his voice, the melodic sweetness and allure, like it was designed to captivate. It's something in his eyes, glittering blue pools so wide and deep and tantalizing one feels they could drown in them. It’s something in the utterly delicious pull of his natural scent of _juniper berries_ and _wild flowers_ and not an _ounce_ of fear. It’s something in the way he remains fresh faced and dewy as the first day Geralt met him, when he was just eighteen. Well, now he’s nearing thirty and his hair still flops over his too-blue eyes in a boyish swoop and his voice rings just as sweet in Geralt’s ears as he begs for _more_ and assures him _yes_ and _oh, gods, don’t you dare stop_. 

Geralt isn’t really sure what it is that makes Jaskier so not-quite-human. He’s questioned the bard before, but he’s just as confused as the Witcher. The only reason either of them discovered this interesting little tidbit is because Jaskier was being too damn attractive and Geralt was feeling too damn weak because it was _too damn early_ and Jaskier just looked _so fucking sweet_ wrapped up in Geralt’s cloak as the morning sun cut through the canopy of summer foliage hanging over their campsite and lit the bard up in a puddle of gold and the blood just started pumping through Geralt’s head so fucking loudly he couldn’t even hear himself as he crawled to cover Jaskier’s body with his own weight and, yes, Jaskier was certainly _confused_ but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth after all and _Oh! Geralt, ah, hmm! Ah— Geralt, hold on a second, yes I know just— there’s this weird sound, hold on!_

The bard manages to pull back from the suddenly very affectionate (and wasn’t _that_ just novel) Witcher to pat at his own chest and find— Oh. Geralt’s silver medallion is shuddering where it’s slipped from his tunic to lay against Jaskier’s sternum. Okay it’s not really shuddering as much as it’s _vibrating_ vividly against his skin and he can feel it radiating down through his arms. That’s strange.

And now Geralt is staring at him with those golden, slit, catlike eyes and his nostrils are flaring as his chest expands and suddenly he yanks himelf away from Jaskier, panting like he’s just taken down a kikimora and holding his hands awkwardly in front of himself, looking as openly confused as his traveling companion has ever seen him. He’s still gorgeous of course, with that golden sunlight throwing him into a honeyed halo as his hair frames his face in a way that tugs at Jaskier’s heartstrings and, honestly, he’s the poet, isn’t that supposed to be _his_ job?

“I don’t understand,” Geralt deadpans, one hand reaching up to grip his medallion which has, notably, gone still. 

Jaskier shifts himself up onto his elbows. “Well, if it helps I am just as lo—“

“Stop.” Geralt holds his other hand out. There is an audible click as Jaskier snaps his mouth shut.

The Witcher pulls his medallion from around his neck and his eyes dart from the silver to the bard beneath him. He brings the medallion close to Jaskier’s face, and it remains still. Geralt narrows his eyes and fully presses the metal to the other man’s cheek. The medallion instantly begins to vibrate and Jaskier gasps, brings a hand up to hold Geralt’s wrist. 

“It tingles,” the bard sounds breathless and bewildered. And then, “Geralt, why the hell does it tingle? Why is it shaking? What in the name of Melitele’s _lovely ti—_ “

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls, and the bard freezes in place. The Witcher leans in, crowding Jaskier back down against his bedroll, one hand braced on the ground next to the smaller man’s head, while the other keeps the medallion pressed against his cheek. “Jaskier,” he breathes the name out, barely audible in the small space between them. “What _are_ you?” 

“Uh,” Jaskier squeaks, blue eyes almost too wide. “Scared?” But that’s a lie, Geralt can smell fear. It smells a little like licorice, and a lot like piss. Right now Jaskier doesn’t smell like either of those things, just _juniper_ and _wild flowers_ and— Oh. Oh, yeah, Geralt knows _that_ smell too. That mulled wine warm spiced scent of arousal. 

“Are you seriously turned on right now?” Geralt huffs, leaning back a bit to give his friend some breathing room, taking the medallion with him. 

Jaskier flushes an attractive pink, and defensively crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh, _I’m sorry_ , I’m just not very used to being woken up by big, warm, beefy slabs of unfairly muscular Witcher crawling on top of me and then rubbing their magical, vibrating medallions all over my face while getting way too into my _personal space_ —“

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, sounding entirely long suffering. Jaskier continues to flush a warm pink all down his neck and across his cheekbones. It's endearing. “Do you know what this medallion is for?” the Witcher asks, letting the sun glint off the silver. Jaskier opens his mouth as if he’s actually going to try and answer. “It’s for helping me detect monsters who are hidden or… _trying_ to hide.” 

Jaskier squawks indignantly then. “Geralt, do you _really_ think I’m some kind of monster in disguise?!” the bard demands, actually sounding a little hurt. Geralt let’s his eyes rake over the prone form beneath him, caged in by his thighs on either side of the smaller man’s hips. There was certainly something supernaturally alluring about Jaskier but not… threatening. Not malicious. Never malicious. 

“No,” he decides, sitting back and effectively pinning Jaskier’s legs. He lets the medallion slip onto the bedroll, distracted by the nervous bob of Jaskier’s throat. 

“So,” Jaskier drums his fingers against the ground. “What, uh, what am I?” The question is genuine, somehow. Geralt “hmm”s thoughtfully, cups the side of Jaskier’s face with one hand, pulls the skin around one glittering blue eye taught so he can lean over the man and peer into it. Jaskier twitches away, turns his head. “H-hey! I’m not some gelding at an auction for you to inspect!” he grouches, blinking rapidly. 

Geralt smiles, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry,” he hums, smoothing his thumb over a still very much flushed cheek. Suddenly that mulled wine scent is back in full force, and Geralt feels a quiet laugh bubbling up in his chest. “Maybe it’s not important right now,” he rumbles, nose bumping against Jaskier’s. “We were a little busy before this medallion thing came up.” 

“You really are a single minded creature, you know that, Geralt?” Jaskier laughs breathlessly, and it’s warm and sweet against Geralt’s lips, so he captures that sweetness between his teeth. Jaskier moans, startled, and frantically reaches up to tangle his hands in Geralt’s hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp, which has the White Wolf all but purring down his throat. “Hmmnng, _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier gasps, finally managing to pull back and breathe. 

“Less talking,” the Witcher decides, starting his hands on a slow, warm slide down Jaskier’s body. He pauses at the hem of his shirt to slip his fingers underneath the thin fabric and possessively wrap his hands around the smaller man’s waist. Jaskier keens. 

“Right, _ah_ , you know best don’t you? _Ah_ , oh, gods, _Geralt_ , do that again would you? Oh, of course you would, you’re so _good_ like that—“ 

“That is not less talking,” Geralt growls against the bard’s pulse point, lathing his tongue soothingly over the frantic heartbeat there. He inhales deeply, revealing in the warm rush of _juniper_ and _spice_. Jaskier’s restless hands are petting through Geralt’s hair, over his shoulders, down his back, touching, touching, _touching_ everywhere he can reach. 

“Geralt, nng, Geralt, can we maybe lose the clothes, hn, _please?_ ” Jaskier is panting and Geralt has barely touched the man. He can’t decide if he likes that or not yet. The strung out _whine_ Jaskier offers at the sight of Geralt tugging his tunic over his head places him firmly in the _likes that very much_ category. The bard fumbles to yank off his own thin chemise, utterly _gasping_ when Geralt drags his sword rough palms along his ribs. Another wanton sound finds itself ripped from the poet’s throat when Geralt bends to catch a fetchingly pink nipple with his teeth.

“You are very loud, do you know that?” Geralt offers more than asks, puffing cool air over the nipple he’d just been abusing. Jaskier laughs and winds his fingers into Geralt’s hair again, gently tugging, and _oh_ what can he do but comply? 

“I guess you’ll just have to work on keeping me occupied,” he smirks, capturing Geralt’s lips and licking enthusiastically into the larger man’s mouth. It’s warm and wet and considering the noises he’d just been making Jaskier is a lot more confident and demanding in his movements than Geralt would’ve expected. He feels himself shudder as the poet’s tongue dances across the roof of his mouth, teasing and infuriating in the most wonderful way possible. A rumbling growl builds up from the White Wolf’s throat as Jaskier practically fucks into his mouth and the smaller man breaks away to let out a light laugh. 

“ _Y_ _ou_ are very impatient, do you know that?” he says, grinning madly.

Geralt huffs out a sound _almost_ like a laugh. “I would say I wasn’t expecting you to be such a tease, but we both know that’d be a lie.” Jaskier’s eyes light up at that.

“Oh, you had _expectations_ of this, did you? As in you’ve thought about this before?”

“I came on to you, Jaskier, of course I’ve thought about this,” Geralt sighs (a little dramatically, in Jaskier’s opinion). “Now, _please_ , less talking?” The Witcher comes as close to begging as the bard has ever heard him.

“I think I like hearing that from you,” Jaskier’s eyes dance almost impishly. “I think I need to hear it again if we are to continue.” 

Geralt growls then, leans down to drag his tongue over Jaskier’s other nipple and make the poet’s breath catch. He holds the stiff bud gently between his teeth and tugs lightly. Jaskier’s hands scramble to smooth Geralt’s loose hair back as the Witcher lifts his eyes up to catch that burning blue gaze. He lets go of the nipple. “Please,” he breathes, warm over the sensitive skin. 

“Fuck, and you call _me_ a tease,” Jaskier pants, dragging Geralt back up to slot their mouths together, working one hand down to tug at the tie on Geralt’s breeches. Geralt swats the other man’s hand away, pinning the offending wrist next to Jaskier’s head while he makes short work of pulling the both of them out into the early morning air. Jaskier gasps, sucks in a sharp breath as Geralt thumbs at the head of his cock. The silky heat of the Witcher’s considerable length against his own arousal makes the bard’s head spin with how maddening it is. 

He goes to shift his trapped arm out of Geralt’s grasp so he can _do something_ when a sudden tingling radiates from his shoulder down to his finger tips. “Ah, Geralt--” he starts. The Witcher burrs, moves to cover Jaskier’s throat with his mouth. “Oohh _hh_ , I really appreciate that, I _do!_ ” Jaskier pants, a moan filtering out between them as Geralt twists his wrist in a particularly clever manner. “But, hng, I think I’m on top of your neck _lace_ , _gods_ , where did you learn how to _do that?_ ” The poet’s voice comes out high and reedy as the White Wolf sucks a sizable bruise into the sensitive spot between his shoulder and neck. Geralt pulls away with an obscenely wet _pop_ , licking his lips as he does. Well, that’s just unfair. 

“It’s not a necklace,” he says, and he would seem entirely unperturbed if not for the way he squeezes his fist a little tighter where it’s wrapped around the base of their trapped cocks.

Jaskier swallows a whine. “Medallion, whatever, don’t be so sensitive,” Geralt fixes him with a signature glare then, though this time it’s accompanied by a calloused thumb dragging over the head of Jaskier’s cock and catching against the slit. “ _Hah--_ okay! Just let me--” He shifts around for a moment and fishes the vibrating round of silver out from where it’d slipped under his arm. It’s warm against his palm and he shivers with the vibration. Geralt raises his brows and _hmm_ ’s thoughtfully. 

The Witcher releases their cocks (Jaskier groans mournfully) and reaches to take the medallion into his own hand. Geralt’s eyes bounce between the metal and Jaskier’s flushed face for a moment before he grins in an absolutely wolfish manner. 

“I’m not sure I like that face,” Jaskier says warrily, wriggling with nervous energy and trying to grind up against Geralt in an effort to continue their previous activities. He succeeds for a moment, catching the larger man’s cock against his own in a hot and sweet slide that has the Witcher cursing. Geralt grinds forward in retaliation, pinning Jaskier’s hips with his own. 

“Brat,” he huffs, leaning in to drag his tongue up the column of Jaskier’s throat. 

“Ooh, be careful with the pet names there, I might just like it,” Jaskier grins, a low moan building in his chest as Geralt catches his tongue between his teeth, silencing him for a time. 

Suddenly, Geralt is taking Jaskier in hand again, which is utterly _delightful_ , except--

“Is that your fucking _medallion?_ ” he squeaks, mouth falling open in wanton shock as the warm metal vibrates pleasantly against the underside of his straining cock. Precome beads rapidly at the tip as his hips stutter into the sensation. Geralt noses under Jaskier’s jaw, scenting the sudden spike of arousal with a pleased _hmm_. “You are,” he keens as Geralt slides his fist and the medallion down his length, “ _very_ resourceful, I’ll give you that.” He pants rapidly, dragging his nails down the Witcher’s broad back, whining and sighing as Geralt slowly jacks the vibrations up and down his cock. 

“You are very difficult to silence,” Geralt sighs warmly against the smaller man’s neck, nosing up his jaw before capturing his mouth with his own. Jaskier _mmrr_ ’s pleasantly, lax and twitching under the Witcher’s ministrations. Geralt works the medallion up in his fist, suddenly pressing it firmly against the head of the bard’s cock, who wails and bucks into the tight hold, warm white streaking against his stomach and Geralt’s fingers. 

“You _fiend_ ,” Jaskier gasps, swatting Geralt’s hand away as the vibrations turn from pleasant to harsh against his over sensitive cock. Geralt smiles, grinds his neglected arousal against Jaskier’s thigh. The bard huffs and heaves himself up, shoving the Witcher back by the shoulders (he lets himself be pushed) and lands with his thighs on either side of Geralt’s hips, softening cock brushing against the larger man’s length. He plucks the medallion from Geralt’s hold, drawing the sticky fingers into his mouth to suck his own spend off of them. The White Wolf groans at the sight, his blown pupils managing to engulf even more of the yellow around them.

Jaskier pulls off of Geralt’s fingers, licking his lips as he does so, and Geralt almost whines at the loss. The bard looks to the medallion still vibrating in his hand. “Too bad this doesn’t work on you,” he laments thoughtfully.

“That would defeat the point of it, I think,” Geralt grits impatiently, canting his hips up in a desperate search for friction. Jaskier grins down at him, blue eyes sparkling with that now familiar impish gleam. 

“Guess I’ll just have to get creative then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Jay, you came up with this idea, you made your bed, now lie in it.
> 
> I've never written smut before, can you tell?
> 
> This was supposed to only be 500 words long.
> 
> Toss a comment to your writer! (and a prompt @thriftstoreboy on tumblr)
> 
> Title from Khalid's _Location_


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